


Man About Town (ABANDONED)

by VincentMeoblinn



Series: Finish Me [13]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien Sex, Anal, I don't know how to tag this, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Maledom, Mating slit, No Genders, Not really aliens, Oral, Slit, You Just Fall In Love with PEOPLE, but these are the closest tags that fit, i dreamt it up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:12:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no genders, only internal sexes hidden inside of 'pods' that are closely guarded secrets from all but doctors and lovers. Only male pronouns exist. John has been a regular Casanova on three different continents, but somehow always ended up with people who were sexed as female. He's also always known that he was drawn to Sherlock Holmes, but the man has appeared to be asexual... until one day John finds out that Sherlock has been keeping secrets, and that Sherlock's life took a dramatic change after he met John that leaves the blogger with only one deduction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER WARNING: Medical exam involving a minor. May be triggery but not written to be sexual in any way.**

John sighed as he realized he was going to have to see yet _another_ teenager today. Teenagers were beyond awkward, but to top it off they had one more thing going wrong for them besides acne, legs too long for their bodies, and poor impulse control. They were hitting puberty and inevitably a parent would drop them off on John’s doorstep to open his mating slit up for an exam. Sometimes they waited for so long that the kids just sat there and rolled their eyes because they’d already had years to thoroughly explore their bits, but most parents brought their children in the second they started dating or if they had to have a physical for school or medical reasons.

John headed into exam one and found a young man sitting there with his parents staring at everything but him. They were both very handsome, clearly professional individuals. The taller was wearing a bespoke suit and the shorter had a PDA out and was muttering about stock despite the fact he was clearly going to the gulf course afterwards. Their son was sitting on the table in a gown looking as if he’d just been violated… or was waiting for John to do so. His eyes were as wide as saucers and his skin was ashen. John put out a hand and smiled warmly.

“Hello my young man, and how are you today?” John asked cheerily.

“I want to join the football team,” He stated firmly, not offering up his hand.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” John replied, pulling up a stool, “Nurse took your vitals, so I’m going to ask you a few questions and then get on with the exam.”

“Why is palpating and opening the mating slit necessary?” The young man asked, giving John a narrow eyed glare.

“Tony!” Both parents snapped. The shorter continued after a glance at the taller, “Tony, we’ve told you to leave this at home. If you want to play sports you have to have a physical. Either allow it or we go home.”

“I just want to know,” Tony replied angrily, sitting up a bit straighter and glaring at each man in the room in turn, “I just want to know how exploring any part of my body for non-medical reasons is necessary! My gender doesn’t affect my-“

Both parents gasped in horror but John held up a hand, “It’s fine, Tony. I get it, this is very personal and frankly I don’t understand why teachers demand you be sexed before taking sports. However, I can tell you what the benefits are and if you’re really against it after we talk I’ll fudge the paperwork for you.”

“Really?” Tony asked, eyebrows shooting up, “You’d do that?”

“Sure,” John smiled, picking up a pamphlet, “So here’s a chart showing internal genitalia. You’re probably already familiar with your mating slit. Maybe you have another term for it?”

Tony glanced up from the pamphlet that he hadn’t opened shyly. He was starting to drop the bravado and now looked embarrassed and as awkward as most of the young men who came in.

“My friend’s call it a… a vent,” Tony whispered.

“We called them claspers as kids,” John winked and one of the parents snickered, “The thing is, most kids your age don’t know anything about them. This is a good thing, because you should figure it out and enjoy it all on your own in order to fully enjoy your body. However, it’s also a bad thing because then you aren’t aware of what kinds of injuries could happen. What you might think is gas from a long night of tacos and Indian food might be a serious sports related injury.”

“How would I hurt something that’s between bone and covered in a shell?”

John smiled. That was his usual opening, and he reached out to pluck the pamphlet from the kid’s hands and open it up.

“It’s not a shell,” He explained, “The little lump just between your thighs is called a pod, and it’s made mostly of cartilage and muscles. It feels hard and well protected- and it is- but a hard strike against your pod could force it open. Now, everyone’s pod opens eventually, and yours might have already, but forcing it open isn’t safe unless it’s done under medical conditions or with your own fingers so you can listen to your body and identify if it hurts. Do you know why?”

Tony was staring in horror down at the picture in front of him, dark fingers twitching across the paper as he tried to figure out if he wanted to close it or not. Inside were two diagrams, one of internal male genitals and the other of internal female genitals. Various lines indicated terms the young man had likely never heard of before, but John doubted he was reading. He was staring in disgust at what likely looked like guts from a horror movie to him.

John plucked the pamphlet from his hand and folded it shut, “You can look at that later. I’ll give you one to take home. Do you know why your slit should be opened only by yourself or a doctor?”

“So it doesn’t tear,” Tony said softly, his voice filled with fear.

John smiled comfortingly, “It wouldn’t tear. Tearing only happens to females giving birth and that’s only if certain conditions are met. Your pod should only be opened under the best of conditions because otherwise it can be emotionally distressing to you do to how highly sensitive your pod is. There are 10,000 sensory nerve endings on the inside of your pod and only about 5,000 on the outside. That’s why it’s preferred that a young person figure things out themselves. However, if you’re going into contact sports it’s possible for you to take a hit to your pod that could bruise the cartilage and muscles underneath. Knowing what’s inside of your pod will speed up a doctor’s attempts to heal you. If you have a penile bone inside you’ll need a shot to relax the muscles, but if you have a womb inside than there’s an entirely different procedure involving opening up your pod and making sure the muscles inside haven’t torn. Obviously, if you’re male and we crack you open because we haven’t a clue what’s in there than we’re going to be causing more harm than good.”

“I thought a scan could determine-“ The young man started.

John nodded with a rueful smile, “It’s more expensive than a manual exam, can miss crucial indicators of illness that a doctor would find by simple exam, and frankly in an emergency where your pod is swelling up- quite painfully- we don’t want to delay medical treatment to shoot you full of dye and run you through a tube.”

The young man was silent a moment, clearly weighing his longing to play sports against the humiliation of having a stranger fondle his most private parts. John tipped the scale by replying.

“You’re honestly just putting off the inevitable. You could sit here and decide to forgo the exam, never play sports, shoot down your chances of being able to put that potential success on applications to Uni, and you’ll _still_ have to have an exam before you enter _any_ workforce. To be honest with you the only difference is that by then you’ll have become more comfortable with your body.”

Tony raised one ebony eyebrow and John smiled at his silent rebuttal, “Yeah, okay. I get it. You can’t figure out _how_ you’ll ever be comfortable, but trust me we all go through the beanstalk phase, as I like to call it. Eventually you’ll grow into your feet, hands… and pod. You’ll find someone who clicks and the two of you will explore more together and then you’ll see that _he_ feels odd about it, too. We all do.”

Tony sighed and nodded, “Fine.”

“Very well, do you want your parents to-“

“Hell no,” Tony stated shrilly.

“Tony!” Both parent’s snapped again.

John chuckled, “How about a nurse?”

“A hot one?”

“Oh, gorgeous,” John snickered, “If you’re into Rubenesque men.”

“I have no idea what that means, but I can’t _wait_ to find out,” Tony leered.

One of his father’s snickered and was quickly elbowed by the other. The two men made their way out the door with a polite nod to John. At least they didn’t ask any awkward questions. If anything was more awkward than a teenager with an unopened pod it was a parent who didn’t know their penile bone from their clitoral bud.

Tony laid down on the bed as instructed while John called the nurse in. Charles just as John was donning gloves and warming the lube on a little heated platter.

“Now, this is going to be a bit intense,” John explained, “Some young men have an orgasm and some experience a bit of pain. I can’t tell you which will happen so it’s best if you prepare for both. Studies show relaxing your muscles from the waist down is most helpful. We’ll examine your pod first and then we’ll discuss the best ways to protect it and how to treat it should you wish to explore it yourself. Now that your folks are out of the way, have you ever opened it yourself?”

“N-no. Is that weird?”

“At your age? Nope. I’ve had kids much older than you tell me they’ve never played with more than the outside before.”

“It’s sort of… weird feeling. Like, it gets moist and gross so I stop messing with it, you know? Is that normal?” Tony asked, his anxiety showing.

“M-hm,” John acknowledged, “That’s your natural lubrication. It doesn’t indicate interior sex. Most young people find it repulsive, but as you get older you’ll learn to love it.”

John lifted the sheet over Tony’s legs, nodding his thanks to Charles for having gotten Tony into the stirrups for him.

“First, an exterior exam,” John stated, “This shouldn’t feel any different than what you’ve already done.”

John glanced down at Tony’s body. Like any young man he had a soft little bottom, a bit more rounded due to his race but otherwise normal, with a small furled anus that had likely never been breached at his age. It might never depending on his internal sex and inclinations. Above his hole was his taint, a darkened area full of sensitive nerve endings which usually started a young man’s experimentation. Above that was a small mound that resembled a knee-cap in shape and firmness with a slit from top to bottom that was currently tightly clenched. The muscle control inside the pod was spectacular. In a child it was like a clam that didn’t want to open but as adolescence approached it would slowly start to gape a bit- usually at the most embarrassing times- and some fluid would occasionally leak out. The fluid would be clear and smell a bit spicy… assuming the person was healthy. Someone who forced open a pod early could develop quite the infection, but that was something that had ended in the dark ages. Above the pod was what looked like an unshelled sunflower seed in shape and size, and in Tony it even had a similar colouring with some faint pale stripes. This was his urethral opening and not a part that John would be examining today. Instead he ran his fingers across the young man’s pod seeking out lumps beneath the surface or skin abnormalities. The pod gave a clench and tightened up, the seam turning tan as the flesh there was pressed together.

“Easy,” John soothed, “Just relax.”

“Easy for you to say, man,” Tony grumbled.

“Grip Charles’ hand if you need to,” John replied.

Tony gave the pudgy, hairy nurse a sceptical glance and he returned it with a toothy grin. Tony sat up enough to give John an irritated glare and reply, “Nah, I’m good.”

John smothered his amusement and dipped his finger in the warmed up lube, “I’m going to stroke the seam now. This part won’t hurt, but it may be arousing. Just try to contain yourself and remember I’m married to my job.”

“Ha, ha,” Tony grumbled.

John stroked the seam and the pod fluttered and then gaped a bit. He continued to run his finger from top to bottom until he had a bit of a gap. Tony shuddered, his thigh muscles clenching and unclenching. The young lad grabbed at Charles and brutalized his fingers.

“You done yet?” Tony asked, voice cracking.

“Barely started, unfortunately,” John replied, “If it helps this is just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you.”

“I really, really doubt that.”

John didn’t reply. He was focused on getting his finger into the tiny slit without putting too much pressure on the cartilage that made up the hard outside of the shell. He got his pinky inside enough to wriggle it a bit and Tony let out a sharp cry of shock as the pod snapped open. There had been no pain to his tone and John repressed a proud smirk. He was good at what he did, which was why he came highly recommended for this procedure. He may not like doing it, but at least in his hands the young boys who left weren’t afraid to touch themselves for years afterwards.

Before John was a three inch wide, six inch long, soft mass of fleshy muscles with the same texture as the underside of a tongue but considerably less veins. They were two strong muscles that protected the gonads inside by opening and closing the pod, and were still actually clenched despite the pod having opened. He couldn’t see any sign of the genitals hidden inside. This could still be either a female _or_ a male. John slicked up three fingers and ran them from top to bottom of the inside of the quivering muscles, watching them tremble, produce more eager fluid from three tiny glandular holes on each side of the inner muscles- also called vulva- and then finally relax enough to allow John entrance. He reached one finger inside and explored a moment, starting at the bottom. He found two mounds that indicated internal gonads. They were fairly small so Tony appeared to be either an underdeveloped male or a female so far. He stroked them until Tony let out a small cry.

“Okay, Tony?” John asked, removing his finger immediately. The pod didn’t snap shut, so that was a start. He’d gotten his fingers caught in frightened young boys bodies before and it was unpleasant for everyone involved.

“I’m good,” Tony swallowed audibly, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” John replied, “Any reaction you have is valid. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tony nodded, “You done?”

“Almost. Just once more, alright?”

John reached in at Tony’s silent affirmation and stroked both orbs again. A small bud appeared and John smiled at the soft, closed-flower appearance at the top of the pod. It was about the size of a pea. He didn’t touch it. To do so would be positively cruel and a violation of the trust he had with his patient. He only examined it with his eyes and found no abnormalities. John gave the rest of the area another once over, carefully exploring the vulval tongues to make sure there were no lumps on them, and then stood up and snapped off his gloves.

“All done, Tony,” John smiled.

“Oh,” Tony sounded slightly disappointed. John smothered another grin. Well, he’d definitely be exploring after this!

“I’ll note everything in your file. Do you want to know your internal sex? Or would you prefer to find out yourself?”

“I… don’t I need to know or…?”

“I’ll be letting your parents know since you’re a minor,” John replied, “And it will go on the inside of the medical wrist band you’ll wear during sports. Our office will mail it to your home. If you don’t look at the inside before you strap it on you’ll never know until you open your pod up yourself.”

John glanced over to see the pod slowly sliding closed again, the swollen flesh protesting the lack of relief. Tony was silent until it fully shut and then he sat up with a slightly discomfited look on his face.

“You don’t have to decide today,” John reassured him as he washed up, “You’re very healthy, by the way. You may notice some discharge as your pod flushes out the lubricant I had on my fingers. That’s perfectly normal and there’s never a need to open your pod up and clean the inside. They’re entirely self-cleaning.”

“Okay. Which is it?” Tony decided.

“Female,” John smiled, “Congratulations, you have the potential to be impregnated someday.”

Tony’s eyes lit up and a smile spread across his face, “So… I’m fertile?”

“I assume so,” John chuckled, “You could get an egg count done someday, but that’s something that most people don’t do unless they’re having trouble conceiving. Any questions?”

“No,” Tony clearly lied, but John wasn’t about to spend ages convincing him to open up. He handed him the pamphlet again.

“You need to know that you’re already able to get pregnant, so it’s important for you to have any partner you have wear protection if he’s male inside. I assume your parents have provided you with barriers?”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded.

“Good,” John smiled warmly, “You can pick up some more from the nurse on the way out the door if you need them. Remember not to use them past expiration or keep them in a constricted environment as that might cause tears to occur even through the factory packaging. You can get dressed now. Have a good day.”

John headed out with a sigh of frustration. At least he’d spared that lad the horrid introduction to his pod that John had suffered. After his doctor had pried it open with a spectrum he’d needed antibiotics and cream. He’d had to open it up himself for a week to put the cream on and it had been a combination of painful and arousing that had left him sobbing in shame. His parents had bashfully looked the other way after buying the medication and hadn’t even checked to make sure he was using it correctly. The stigma of not discussing your pod with anyone besides your doctor and lover hung over even parents.

John got to his office and sat down behind his desk to pull open his files. That was his last patient of the day and he had some paperwork to do, but at that moment his phone began to dance across the desk. He stared at it with a mixture of dread and excitement. The rate of vibration meant it had to be Sherlock. Only he shot off texts at that rate to John’s phone. That meant that if John looked at them he’d be running out the door leaving all his paperwork to go to hell. But it also meant he’d be running out the door towards Sherlock to go to war with his strange… CO? He honestly had no idea what to call Sherlock. He was more than a flatmate but the man had no sexual interests to speak of- and John _had_ been watching- so they had never reached that potential that simmered just beneath the surface. Sherlock had dated once, but only as a ruse. John had been irrationally jealous for a recently married man with a child on the way.

John hesitated for a moment as the phone finally fell still and then grabbed the phone and started at the beginning of the unread messages. By the time he got to the last one he was fumbling for his jacket, his eyes wide and a grin on his face. He ran out the door without bothering to put the files away, he just locked his office instead.

“Holmes has called!” John shouted to his staff, earning a groan from Maddie behind the desk. The receptionist looked up at him in annoyance.

“James and Francine won’t appreciate you calling them in again!” Maddie called after him, buttoning his jacket as he stood up to go make sure the rest of the office was shut down properly.

“Patients are all gone for the night, they need only cover me tomorrow if I text you,” John called.

“ _Will_ you text me this time?” He called back, “Or will I show up to a locked office and figure it out myself?”

“Look on the bright side,” John called over his shoulder as he opened the side door, “You’ll make a great detective yourself some day.”

John shut the door before the notepad Maddie had chucked could strike him and laughed on his way down the stone steps to the streets of London, or as he liked to call it ‘Sherlock’s Battlefield’.  

 


	2. Chapter 2

John was limping a bit after the case, but he was certain it wasn’t a sprain. He’d just twisted it painfully. John leaned on Sherlock as they worked their way up the steps into Angelo’s for a celebratory dinner. Angelo all but cheered their entrance and then helped John to their usual table where he fussed over him painfully, insisting on bringing him a bag of ice and some pain pills. Sherlock just barely talked him out of calling an ambulance. John put his foot up with the ice on top and smiled across the table at Sherlock. Sherlock was staring out the window waiting for their usual order to arrive, his fingers drumming on the table.

“It’s been too long,” John said softly, thinking of the first time they’d eaten there, though it certainly hadn’t been the last.

“Hm?” Sherlock half glanced at him before his eyes darted back outside again.

“Something going to happen?” John asked suspiciously. He thought the case was solved, but he wouldn’t put it past Sherlock to have some little titbit left dangling and simply not tell John about it.

“Not expecting it to,” Sherlock replied, still looking distracted, and then his face twisted in rage and he hissed under his breath, “Damn! Bloody hell, go somewhere else!”

“Sorry?” John asked, as Sherlock sighed in obvious disgust.

Two handsome young men walked into Angelo’s, laughing as they brushed a bit of snow off their shoulders. Sherlock had snatched up a menu and was clearly hiding behind it. John frowned and studied the drink in front of him, carefully checking to make sure he had his gun with him still. Whatever had spooked Sherlock was clearly a serious matter that the consulting detective hadn’t been prepared for. Well, John was prepared. He wouldn’t lose Sherlock again. Sherlock had been his rock after his return from Afghanistan and the safe harbour he’d returned to when Mary had gone missing with their child. It was Sherlock who had found little Jamie Watson in an orphanage in Switzerland and returned his son to him. It was Sherlock who cleaned up their flat so Jamie could move in, giving John and Jamie the larger downstairs bedroom so they could be more comfortable and putting a shed out back for his experiments. John owed Sherlock everything and he’d be damned if he _ever_ let him down.

John carefully watched the men in the reflection of the window as they sat down at a table. They held hands and spoke closely, their eyes filled with warmth and love. They weren’t just on a date, this was clearly a long-term relationship he was seeing. So what threat did they pose to Sherlock?

Then one of them glanced over and grew still, a look of shock on his face before it morphed to excitement. He gave the hand he was holding a frantic shake and pointed at Sherlock quite rudely.

“Excuse you?” John snapped before he could recall that he was supposed to be _watching_ them. Of course, they’d obviously already seen Sherlock, but drawing attention might have escalated things to violence.

The two men stood up and headed over, the gleam of obsessed fans in their eyes while Sherlock’s eyes slowly widened as he stared at the menu. Then as the shorter of the two giggled eagerly and nudged the taller Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes, put down his menu, and smiled up at them politely.

“Hello Garth, Joshua,” Sherlock spoke quickly, “Fancy seeing you here! My it’s been a long time. How are you? Good? I’m simply fantastic, thank you for asking! John and I were just about to eat and _here_ comes our food now. Do forgive us, we-“

“Oh, no you don’t!” The taller, indicated by Sherlock’s earlier nod as being Joshua, cut him off with a sassy wave of one finger, “You’ve been avoiding us!”

“And yet you persist in not taking a hint, you stubborn minx, you,” Sherlock replied, his faux smile dropping as he went into full arsehole mode.

John leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his water, mouth upturned in amusement as he sat back to enjoy the show. Angelo expertly delivered their food without even nudging the men, giving them a strange look. Had he been perturbed? Annoyed? John wasn’t sure. He hadn’t been happy, that was for sure. Sherlock would have figured it all out in a glance, but John was suddenly concerned that he’d misread the situation a second time. Was this not a pair of fans come to irritate Sherlock?

“Oh, Sherly,” Garth swooned, “You simply love to use that sharp tongue of yours in _all_ the wrong ways. We’ve missed you.”

Sherlock sighed so harshly that it likely started a hurricane on the other side of the globe, “Can’t you see I’m _busy!_ ”

“And who is this?” Joshua asked, and two pairs of outraged eyes suddenly turned on him, spilling vitriol in John’s direction that was entirely unexpected of fans _or_ criminals. The former usually wanted to quiz him while the latter usually just used John as bait.

“John Watson,” John stated, thinking they were perhaps simply mistaken, “Dr. John Watson.”

They dismissed him with a glare and turned back to Sherlock, Joshua speaking again, “So he’s our replacement?”

“No, he’s my flatmate and blogger,” Sherlock scoffed, “ _As you well know_.”

“Please,” Garth replied, “As if you’d just suddenly _stop_ being a man about town.”

“A _what_?” John snorted, stressing the ‘h’ in disbelief.

“Well, I believe it,” Garth frowned, “He hasn’t been at the club in _years_ , Joshua.”

“He just must be cheating on us with some _other_ fancy hall,” Joshua sneered, and then suddenly turned flirty and heavy-lidded, “Come home with us and we’ll remind you why you learned to pick locks.”

“For the Work,” Sherlock replied softly, but his eyes had flashed with what was unmistakably arousal.

John’s mouth fell open and he simply gaped at him like a fish while the two men twittered in amusement. Then Joshua pulled the chair that John’s injured foot was resting on out from under him, making him grunt in pain. He glared but didn’t retaliate. Sherlock’s eyes flashed murder but then shifted as his head cocked to one side inquisitively. Joshua sat down close to Sherlock and leaned forward, using his body to hide his motions from the restaurant. John couldn’t see due to the table between them, but that arm was _definitely_ not leading into Joshua’s own lap. Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered shut and his nostrils flared. John felt his pod give an unmistakable shiver of desire.

John swallowed hard as Sherlock calmly removed Joshua’s hand from his lap and gave him a corrosive look, “You are being _very_ offensive to my date, Joshua. Piss off. Now.”

John and Sherlock’s food had remained untouched throughout the conversation. John’s mouth opened and shut uselessly as the two men left, throwing offended glares at Sherlock and John. Sherlock picked up his fork and began to eat, and that broke through to John whose stomach snarled in hunger. He’d been doing quite a bit of running today and was starved.

“Is your foot alright, John?” Angelo asked, hurrying over and fetching his ice bag from the floor, “I get you more ice.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” John replied, his foot hurting worse than it had before.

Sherlock noted that he didn’t argue and paused with a bite halfway to his mouth, “If that twit hurt you-“

“I’m fine,” John replied sharply, “What was all that about, hm?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock stated flatly, going back to his food.

“That nothing had his hand on your _pod_ ,” John hissed. He expected the typical reaction from someone hearing that word outside of the bedroom or doctor’s office, but Sherlock didn’t look the least bit shocked or offended. He just kept eating and ignoring John, “Fine. Don’t say anything then.”

Angelo brought John more ice and helped him put his now _aching_ foot back up on the chair. John sighed as he noticed it was beginning to swell. The bastard’s interference might just have actually sprained his ankle. He’d have a time of it getting home, especially if Sherlock continued to be surly and unhelpful. They finished their meal in complete silence, Sherlock more interested in his phone than talking to John. John was sulking as well, angry that their fun night had been ruined.

Then he had an idea. An absolutely _stupid_ idea, one that didn’t have a chance of playing out well, but he was too intrigued by the brief glimpses of Sherlock’s long hidden ardour. John slipped his shoe off and carefully began to massage his ankle, trying to see how bad it was. He winced a few times and Sherlock paused while chewing to glance up.

“Hurts,” John stated, “Might be a sprain after all.”

“Mm,” Sherlock replied noncommittally.

John moved to shift his foot back up, but instead of putting it on the spare chair he slid it along the inside of Sherlock’s thigh from knee to groin. Sherlock went still, pasta halfway to his mouth and shut his mouth, frowning intensely. John teased one toe up where he thought Sherlock’s seam might be. Sherlock’s hips moved forward instinctively, seeking more contact, and John obliged it. He pressed the arch of his foot in to cover the sensitive pod. Sherlock’s eyes fell closed and he shivered in desire, but then his hand moved down to grasp John’s ankle just as he felt the first flutter of the opening slit. John grunted in pain and Sherlock smoothly moved his foot to the chair.

“We should go, John,” Sherlock said softly.

“I don’t-“ John started, but Sherlock gave him a sharp glance that silenced him. They finished their meal in a far more solemn silence.

The bastards returned just as John was trying to convince Sherlock that he’d need help getting out the door.

“Sherlock, I really could use a hand here, and I _swear_ if you start clapping ag- hello,” John gave the two men a glare, “If it isn’t my assailant and his partner.”

“We brought you a few reminders, Sherlock,” Garth told Sherlock, giving him a smug grin while ignoring John.

“Am I invisible to _everyone_ tonight?” John snapped angrily.

“You’re _unworthy_ ,” Joshua snarled.

“You gormless nancy-boy,” Sherlock snarled, stepping up and gripping John’s upper arm tightly, “You don’t deserve to trod on his _shadow!”_

John was stunned. Not only because Sherlock then proceeded to help him out the door, but also because he was for some strange reason _not_ insulting the man. Oh, he’d said some insulting things, but not _Sherlock_ level insulting. It had been… well… _catty_. Almost as if he were afraid of getting too personal, but that could only mean…

They stepped outside and John gaped at the crowd of well-dressed people standing about. It looked like a yacht party had let out in the middle of the damn road. They were all standing about staring at Sherlock and John and as he gaped back at them one of them snickered. Two of them had glasses of _champagne,_ for fuck’s sake!

“The hell is going on?” John asked.

“Apparently,” Sherlock sighed, “I’m _missed_.”

“Who in their right minds would miss you?” John asked without thinking. Sherlock gave him a sideways glare, “I mean, besides me you don’t exactly treat people like royalty.”

“Come on,” Sherlock growled, pulling him through the crowd that parted slowly before them like annoyed waterfowl. Their posh suits were getting on John’s nerves. He considered wiping his hand on one of them but he’d probably get sued.

They walked to the curb and Sherlock hailed a cab for them, shoving John in a bit roughly. John snarled at him but it was half-hearted. He was flustered by the strange behaviour of both Sherlock and the people out there. Sherlock climbed in after him without looking back or addressing a single soul.

John sat silently in the seat beside Sherlock as the cab headed back to 221B.

“So, who were they?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Sherlock? I’m _worried_ ,” John huffed.

“The two idjits were my former flatmates,” Sherlock replied.

“Who you were…?” John prompted.

“Sharing a flat with,” Sherlock replied, narrowing his eyes at John as if he’d just asked the dumbest question Sherlock had ever heard.

John sighed, “You seemed _intimately_ acquainted?”

“Oh, yes. We were sleeping together.”

“All…”

“All three of us, yes.”

“And those other people?”

“Former liaisons of mine as well.”

“All of them?” John guffawed.

“Yes.”

“All… thirty of them?”

“Twenty-four,” Sherlock corrected, “Though admittedly it was very crowded on the pavement I can’t fault you for making a rough estimate.”

John was silent for the rest of the ride, too stunned to actually reply. Sherlock helped him up the first set of stairs and John collapsed into a chair. Sherlock sighed and headed back towards the stairs, likely to take himself down to his lab to avoid John.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” John called, nodding to Mrs. Hudson as she passed him on her way out of their flat. She’d been watching Jamie for them during their case.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, dropping down into his chair, “Fine, go on, but remember I can run faster than you. Especially now.”

John sighed and shook his head, “All these years I’ve thought you were just… Is that what you do when you don’t have cases and I’m at the clinic? Go to exclusive Gentleman’s Clubs and sleep your way through their ranks?”

“I haven’t been there in _years_ , John. Even you can’t have missed that.”

“Yeah, and it’s been years since you fake-jumped off a building.”

“I haven’t been to the clubs since I moved out of their flat,” Sherlock stated sharply.

John smiled slowly, “They caught you in bed with someone else? You cheated on your partners, you _cad_!”

“I did no such thing,” Sherlock scowled.

“Let me guess, it wasn’t ‘official’?” John scoffed, “No, wait. Let _me_ be the one to deduce _you_ for a change. You didn’t go back, and you’ve been partnerless for nearly five years as far as I can tell so… _they_ cheated on _you_?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John shook his head.

“No,” John grumbled, “That doesn’t fit, you claimed to have slept with _all_ of them. Except that doesn’t make sense unless… Oh my _gods_ , was it a sex club?!”

Sherlock smiled from ear to ear as if John had just done something amazing and John gaped at him in shock.

“It was? I got it right? It was a sex club? _You_ were in a sex club?!”

“An exclusive and _secret_ sex club, John,” Sherlock replied, leaning back in his chair with legs spread and a smug look on his face.

“Was it for a case or…?” John left it hanging.

Sherlock stood up, buttoning his jacket and giving John an amused and sensual smile as he walked towards the door, “Goodnight, John.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Another day, another crime scene. Sometimes they’re less than exciting. Sometimes they’re just sad. Take today’s scene, for example. We come across a homeless man killed in an alley. What over? Well, we can’t prove it yet, but Sherlock says it was for his cup of spare change, and you know how often His Dibs is wrong._

_Speaking of ‘wrong’, I recently found out that Sherlock’s had quite a few adventures without me. Not that I’d want to have been along, but a chum ought to share details. Not kiss and tell, per se, but at least let a mate know what they’re up to! Then again perhaps he’s saving it all up for his memoirs someday and we’ll all be finding well-thumbed copies of_ The Sexual Adventures of Sherlock Holmes _on the coffee tables of young househusbands._

John sighed and began deleting the last paragraph, annoyed at himself for being so annoyed with Sherlock. It had been several days and Sherlock had avoided John outside of cases. Currently he was in the shower and John was starting to think things weren’t going to go back to normal without some serious intervention. John decided to try writing his blog entry again, starting after the first paragraph.

_We have a sergeant- who will remain nameless- who often is part of the team at crime scenes. He’s extraordinarily handsome and sassy, always dresses in sharp suits, and even has gorgeous curly hair. I wonder if Sherlock’s fucked HIM too?_

John deleted the whole entry and closed the computer with an angry flourish just as Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom.

“Why not me?” John asked, lurching to his feet, “That’s really what I need to know, and don’t spare me the details.”

“What are you blabbering on about?” Sherlock grumbled going through the cabinets in search of something.

“Why not me? You slept with dozens of people including your former flatmates, so why not me? Is it because it caused complications with your last flatmates? Am I too old? Too militant? Was it the leg? Do you not find me attractive? Is my bloody cologne repugnant? _Why not me_?”

“Don’t ask me that, John,” Sherlock replied with a sigh, glancing over his shoulder at John, “You won’t like the answer.”

“Oh, I’m sure I won’t,” John scoffed, folding his arms angrily, “I mean, you’re only the biggest arsehole I know, but that’s beside the point. Because you’re my best friend and one of the most observant men I know, so if you aren’t aware that I’ve been head over heels in love with you for _five bloody years_ than something is seriously wrong with _me_ beyond your rejection!”

Sherlock sighed and put the tea tin down on the counter, turning slowly to face John with a look that John hadn’t seen on his face since Jamie went missing. Before that it was when Mary was in the midst of confessing her horrid past. Then The roof of St. Bart’s…

“Oh gods, what is it?” John asked, his blood freezing in his veins.

“John, please don’t do this,” Sherlock said softly, “You’re very important to me. I don’t want to lose you. Trust me when I tell you that I’m no good for you.”

Sherlock turned to exit the door in the kitchen, heading for the stairs and his room, and John took in the fact his normally staccato step had turned into a shuffle and felt a moment of dread.

“Is it drugs?” John asked, following after him in concern, “Was that it? Sex, drugs, and rock and roll? Did they give you something? Bloody hell, Sherlock, if you’ve got an STI I need to know about it. I’m your doctor!”

Sherlock slammed the door shut in John’s face and he stood at the top off the attic stairs and mentally cursed himself. Sherlock was clearly running from something and John was unable to see what it was. Perhaps his initial thought that those rich wankers were a threat had been correct. Had their show of snobbery actually been a show of force? There was only one option. He’d have to investigate and hope that he was at least smart enough to catch things now that they’d been practically thrown in his face.

XXX

The next day John set out on his own, scouring St Bartholomew’s Hospital demanding answers from the staff about Sherlock’s past before John had met him. Ostensibly, he made it out to be for his blog, a sort of pre-John anecdotal section, but someone must have seen through him because a black town car pulled up on his way into NSY. John was about to throw him the two finger solute and go join Lestrade for lunch, but then it hit him that Mycroft probably knew _everything,_ and if he could get the prat to stop showing off he might get answers.

John slid into the seat beside Anthea and his Blackberry and was driven to a warehouse where he strolled over to Mycroft’s form as he sat at a tea table and poured himself a cuppa.

“Do join me, John,” Mycroft stated, “I know it’s a bit early but I had brunch instead of breakfast so-“

“Why did Sherlock swear off sex?” John enquired brusquely.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and gestured to the opposite chair once again. It was a white folding chair, padded on the bottom, and John sank into it with a frustrated grumble. The little tea table was set with a picnic set that John was sure was some sort of family heirloom. John stirred in some milk and took an initial sip before repeating his question.

“What makes you think he has?” Mycroft asked.

“Don’t play games with me. Something’s wrong with my best friend and I need to know.”

Mycroft gave John a careful glance, “He moved out of their flat because he was trying to stay sober and they were still using. Why he gave up sex is a mystery to me. He didn’t do _that_ until you moved in.”

“Me?” John asked in surprise.

“Yes, you,” Mycroft took a sip, “My brother was involved in _multiple_ clubs, some of which my parents had found for us and some of which he’d discovered on his own. He was known far and wide as a Man About Town, constantly gadding about and seducing pretty young men- often more than one at a time- into his bed. I was quite jealous, to be honest as my luck with gentlemen has always been stymied by my dedication to my job.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” John replied dryly.

“You know,” Mycroft sighed, “I _could_ just keep my theories to myself.”

“I could keep the identity of a man who has an absolutely _agonizing_ crush on you to myself, too,” John replied. He’d been holding this card for ages and hoped it hadn’t been spotted up his sleeve.

Mycroft raised one eyebrow and for a moment they stared each other down. Finally, Mycroft relented.

“I believe,” Mycroft continued after a long sip of his tea, “That my brother is deeply in love with you, but that he believes that an intimate relationship would ruin what you already have. Perhaps he has deduced that you would find repugnance in some trait of his yet unrevealed.”

“That’s it?” John scoffed, “That’s what you got? He’s afraid we won’t be able to go back to being _friends_ if we sleep together? Bloody hell, he faked his death and I got married, and that didn’t stop us! Even if it turned out _he_ was Mary’s killer and Jamie’s abductor I doubt I’d- he was, wasn’t he?”

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows at the interruption to John’s rant.

“Did he kill my husband and abduct my son?” John asked, his neck aching with how stiff he’d just gone.

“No,” Mycroft replied in surprise, “Why ever would he do something so infernally stupid when he could have just broken you up easily. Am I wrong in assuming that had he demanded it you would have left Mary?”

John hesitated, “No.”

“Then there is no logic to your assumption. Mary’s killer is still unknown… assuming he is even dead. I take it you disagree with my theory about his celibacy?”

“Yeah,” John frowned, “It doesn’t fit.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Well… he’d have to be _sure_ ,” John frowned, “Sherlock has no impulse control. He goes for whatever he wants. It would have to be something he’s _certain_ I would leave him over, and that doesn’t make sense given I told him I love him yesterday.”

“You told him, oh how disgusting,” Mycroft put his biscuit down, “Must you share such things with me? _Love_.”

“Still want to know who has the hots for you?” John huffed.

“Of course,” Mycroft replied, his tone all business.

“Give me something solid. _Why_ won’t Sherlock return my interest if he’s attracted himself?”

Mycroft sighed and motioned to someone by the car, “If you aren’t going to believe me I see no point in continuing. Good day, John.”

XXX

John got out of the car and headed up the steps, leaning on his crutches and grumbling in frustration at each step. He hated them and he couldn’t wait until he could go up the steps without them. So far he was moving around just fine with his ankle bandaged, but stairs were still an issue. John stepped into the flat and laid the crutches against the side of the door. Sherlock was standing by the window staring out at the street.

“Is it hateful again?” John quipped.

“I don’t have an STI,” Sherlock stated, “But I did leave to avoid falling back on drugs.”

“Okay,” John nodded, “Good to know.”

“Of course, my brother would have told you all of that,” Sherlock noted.

“Yeah, he did,” John nodded, shutting the door behind him.

“What else did he tell you?” Sherlock asked.

“That you’re in love with me but think you’ll ruin our friendship if things go too far, or some other odd rot,” John scoffed, feeling that intense pull between them again.

Sherlock was crossing the floor, eyes intently locked on John and body swaying with his usual feline grace. John swallowed hard and held his ground, hoping against hope that _this_ would be the time they went past glances of longing.

“He’s wrong,” Sherlock said softly.

“Obviously,” John stated.

“It’s already gone too far to salvage our friendship.”

“What? No,” John gave Sherlock a look of horror, “I’ll let it go, Sherlock! I’ll-“

Sherlock stepped that fraction of an inch closer and all the breath left John’s lungs. Sherlock licked his lips and leaned forward and John’s lips parted hopefully. There was the barest of hesitation and then Sherlock’s hands were in John’s hair and his lips were pressed against John’s so firmly that their teeth clicked together. John’s arms flew around the man and they moved backwards until John was pinned to the door. There Sherlock all but attempted to merge with him through their clothes. He pressed himself firmly against John’s body, hip to hip with their pods rubbing together, and moaned against his mouth as his tongue flickered forward.

John was touching every inch of Sherlock he could reach, hands moving from top to bottom and cupping his ass hungrily. He’d wanted this for _so long_ and he wasn’t about to waste an ounce of time. John teased Sherlock’s tongue expertly and the man started tearing at his clothes with single-minded desire. John slid Sherlock’s housecoat off his shoulders and then slipped his hands inside his sleep pants to cup his bare ass.

“Oh, _John_ ,” Sherlock moaned, “It’s been too damn long.”

“From what I’ve heard, yeah,” John panted, watching as the man stepped back and stripped off his shirt.

“Bedroom. Now. Mine.”

Up the steps at a fast pace, John’s jeans rubbing against his partially opened pod and sending jolts of electricity up his spine. He got into the bedroom and nearly tripped trying to get his bottoms off. Sherlock was almost instantly nude and he threw himself down on his bed with a sultry glance at John, lifting one leg like a model.

“Oh gods, yes,” John murmured as he got the last of his clothes off and climbed up both the bed and Sherlock’s long, lanky body.

John pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips and then headed straight of his neck, intending on reducing Sherlock to a state of unparalleled pleasure. The man was already moaning softly and John could smell his arousal on the air, pungent and spicy like incense. He wanted to dive right in for the finish to spare Sherlock the agony of all those years of sexual solitude, so John lid right down his body and ran his tongue from Sherlock’s piss seed down to along the inch wide gap of his opening pod. He was halfway down when Sherlock let out a sharp cry and his pod sprang open. John grunted in surprise as his own burst open as well.

“Bloody hell, just wanting you’s got me open,” John growled.

“John,” Sherlock panted, “I need this _now_.”

John moaned and buried his face in wet, heavily scented, and burning hot flesh. He moved his face from side to side and Sherlock gasped, his legs jerking beneath John’s shoulders. John was glad his beard grew so slowly or the stubble would have been awful rather than stimulating. He pressed his tongue out and slipped it along the flexing muscles of Sherlock’s vulval tongues. They yielded to him at the same moment Sherlock let out a long, low moan that was positively sinful in tonal quality.

John instinctively moved down, looking for the soft, sensitive orbs, while his hand reached up and teased Sherlock’s taint. Sherlock was gasping in pleasure as John felt that sudden change of muscle tension that told him Sherlock’s sex was coming forward. He moved upward to begin to flick the little bud but… something poked his chin.

John pulled back in surprise and stared down at a shaft slowly sliding free of Sherlock’s pod. He watched the thick red member as it slid partway out and then began to retreat again. John stared in confusion as Sherlock’s pod tense and then snapped shut, leaving only a damp and sex-flushed mound in sight.

“What… what happened?” John asked in shock.

“What I knew would happen,” Sherlock replied, his tone miserable and terrifyingly final as he sat up and pulled the blankets over him, “You’ve been with so many men, John Three Continents Watson, but not a single one of them has been _male_.”

John blinked up at the despondent look on Sherlock’s face and shook his head, “I… How could you possibly know that… I’ll get _used_ to…”

“You just stared at me in _disgust_ , John. Absolute disgust. It was humiliating.”

“No, I…”

“Get out.”

“Sherlock, I…” John pleaded.

“ _Out!”_

 

To ward off the protests that I  _know_ are about to fly at me, yes he knows what someone with an internal male sex looks like. John was in shock because he's just never ran across it in a lover and had assumed he was somehow only attracted to females. That was a fallacy because there really is no way to tell from the outside. Sherlock had deduced all this and knew John wouldn't react favorably. 


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m not going anywhere,” John growled, eyes narrowing as he stood up and squared his shoulders.

“I’ve thrown you out!” Sherlock snapped.

“Dramatics, Sherlock? As if I’m not used to them after all these years? I’m not leaving. I’m not giving up on our friendship. I’m not giving up on _us.”_

“I _never_ wanted to see you look at me like that!” Sherlock raged, and John was shocked to see him fighting back tears, “You were _disgusted_.”

“I’ve got one myself, Sherlock! Why the hell would I be disgusted?!”

Sherlock swallowed hard and cocked his head to one side, “Because you prefer the softness that I can’t provide. That I _knew_ you’d be unable to do without.”

“Than you might have _told me_ what you’d deduced,” John snapped, “Yeah, I’ve never been with someone who has a shaft, but damn it that’s not my fault! It’s just played out that way! Why the _hell_ couldn’t you warn me?”

Sherlock sniffed and looked away, “People don’t discuss such things. It’s offensive to name the contents of your pod.”

“Offensive is your middle name!” John shouted angrily, “You’re a damn walking encyclopaedia of insults!”

“What difference would it have made?” Sherlock scoffed.

“I’d have schooled my expression-“

“You’d have _hidden_ your expression,” Sherlock snapped.

“I’d have _not hurt your feelings_ , which are surprisingly fragile by the way. In case you hadn’t noticed _I’m still open_.”

Sherlock blinked down at John’s open pod, which was lubricating miserably out of lack of attention. As Sherlock cocked his head to the side in surprise and curiosity John’s shaft slid forward a bit, just the tip peaking out. Sherlock licked his lips and more slid forward.

“Tell me how to do this,” John said softly, hoping he could talk the man into giving him another shot, “Instruct me. If I know what to do I’ll be calm about it. I’ve only ever _examined_ male men, I need to know how to touch you. I need to know how you’ll touch me. Talk to me, Sherlock. I love the sound of your voice even more than you love the sound of it.”

Sherlock’s mouth quirked a bit in amusement and he inched away from the wall, almost looking shy as he glanced from John’s face to his open pod and back.

“I knew you were male, of course. I deduced it.”

“Brilliant,” John whispered, feeling a shiver of desire up his spine. Had Sherlock been picturing him with his pod open? Perhaps he’d touched himself while thinking of John’s throbbing erection, “How? How did you know?”

“Obvious,” Sherlock replied, “It’s the way you carry yourself. Males have a different curve to their spine due to the extra bones inherent in the penile length. It isn’t always clear on the morbidly obese, but with your taught figure…”

“Like my figure, do you?” John purred, running a hand over his flat stomach. He’d had to work hard to get back into shape after the lethargy of his post-marriage depression.

“Yes,” Sherlock growled, voice low with desire.

Sherlock came forward on hands and knees and this time John was the one gasping as a mouth pressed to his softest flesh. Nerve endings fired up and down his body, making his knees knock, as Sherlock ran a tongue along his sensitive slit. His cock pushed out further, but chill air was not met. Instead his member slid straight into Sherlock’s waiting mouth.

John groaned in pleasure as Sherlock suckled on him, tongue gliding along the soft ridges of his phallus as he explored John’s shaft. John stilled his cock to stop it from lurching in and out of Sherlock’s mouth. It wasn’t polite to fuck someone’s face this early in the lovemaking process.

Sherlock leaned back and popped off his cock, smiling up at him as he licked off his lips, “You really are enjoying this.”

“Told you,” John grinned.

“The question is, can you repeat that performance on me?” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow in challenge.

“Do my best,” John smirked, and pushed at Sherlock’s chest to knock him backwards. As usual, Sherlock rolled easily aside, not bothering to be fussed.

John climbed up on the bed, putting himself between Sherlock’s strong thighs again. He smiled at him as he stroked along his pod with one finger. It was harder to get Sherlock to open up this time, but a few ginger licks got him to relax enough that it finally snapped to. John groaned at the sight of all that soft flesh, but he’d be lying if he said it was easy to dive back in. He was worried about getting his _own_ face fucked. He wasn’t at all sure how to suck Sherlock off despite the many blowjobs he’d have over the years. It was one thing to know to tuck his teeth, but how to move his tongue to mimic the actions he’d enjoyed so often?

John refused to show his nerves. He leaned down and ran his tongue up and down the muscular seam inside Sherlock’s pod. The taste was the same, at least. Sweet and spicy, salty and bitter; a combination of everything anyone could ever want. John was so drawn into the taste that he forgot what was coming until his cheek was prodded again. He leaned back and got an angle on Sherlock’s cock before moving back down and wrapping his lips around the tip. Sherlock’s cock slid out fast, and John had to retreat quickly to avoid being choked. Sherlock at least _did_ reach down to push at his head to warn him, but his motions were shaky and he wouldn’t have gotten there in time.

Sherlock’s soft moans were driving John wild. He suckled firmly and then began attempting to coordinate his mouth and tongue together. He worried that his inexperience would show, especially in comparison to Sherlock’s apparent _wealth_ of experience. Sherlock didn’t seem to begrude him his sexual fumbling. He was moaning and rolling his hips as his cock lazily moved in and out of its sheath.

John’s own member was sliding slowly in and out as well, every stroke along his slick shaft of his own walls was driving him crazy. It was sensation all along the walls of the vulval tongues as well as the throbbing of his own veined member. He was soon panting as he bobbed his head to meet Sherlock’s pulsing dick. It wasn’t long before Sherlock’s shaft was moving faster, only descending about halfway into his body before jarring up again. John kept one hand around the base while working the head and top half of the shaft eagerly. His own cock was aching almost painfully, but he couldn’t spare a hand to touch it as he was using the other to prop himself up.

“John…” Sherlock gasped, “As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm… come up here.”

John eagerly released him, his jaw aching from all the hard work, and climbed up Sherlock’s body to press their lips hungrily together. Their slick mixed on their lips and John moaned in amazement at their combined scent and taste. He didn’t let his hips rest against Sherlock’s despite the longing he felt for friction. He had no idea how to lay against him without their cocks bumping together.

Sherlock reached down and gripped John’s ass, pulling his pod flush with his own. Sherlock’s hips rolled up and John’s eyes rolled as pleasure sparked up his spine. Their slick pods were rolling together, their cocks slipping against each other’s vulval lips. John felt Sherlock’s slick muscles making subtle grasping motions and made an effort to do the same. He couldn’t believe that they lined up this way. He was used to burying himself inside of someone, but this was nearly as satisfying. Not to mention the fact it was _Sherlock._ That thought alone had John’s hips jerking in desperate need as he tangled one hand in his hair and gripped his ass with the other. Their tongues tangled together while they chased their release, Sherlock’s hands moving along John’s body with firm strokes and a liberal use of fingernails.

“John!” Sherlock gasped.

Then he was shaking beneath him, his hips jerking convulsively as fluids spilled between their bodies. John groaned as he felt the man’s member pulse against his pod and then he was reaching the edge as well. He thrust harder, groaning in need as he chased his release, but Sherlock was pushing him off.

“John! Too much!”

John pulled back, his brain snapping at him that his partner was removing consent even as his cock pumped in and out of his body, seeking a hole to bury itself in. He kneeled up and blinked down at Sherlock in frustration.

“Sherlock, I fucking _swear_ …” John panted.

Thankfully, Sherlock took pity on him. His hand flew down and gripped John’s shaft to work him with expert motions. In fact, it was possibly the best hand job he’d ever had. Sherlock’s wrist flicked in _just_ the right way and John’s head fell back, shoulders heaving as he panted in desire.

“Oh, that’s it,” John groaned.

“So handsome,” Sherlock purred, and slid two fingers in between his slick muscles to stroke his internal testicles.

“Fuck!” John swore. Most women wouldn’t even _go_ there! John’s muscles clenched and his cock pulsed in Sherlock’s grip, making short thrusts into his hand before spurting across Sherlock’s body. John moaned in relief, watching his white fluids splash across Sherlock’s belly and pod as his cock strained straight out in front of him before slowly beginning to relax. Sherlock released him and John sighed in relief, settling back on his heels to grin down at Sherlock.

“See? Nothing to it,” John bragged.

Sherlock snorted, “That was _frottage_ , John.”

“Still sex,” He argued, “Penetration doesn’t equal sex.”

“It does when my goal is to fuck your tight ass,” Sherlock gave him a predatory smile.

John felt his ass clench and barely repressed the look of fear that flashed across his face. Sherlock’s expression gentled, having caught it despite John’s control.

“It’s fine,” Sherlock soothed, stroking his cheek, “You’ll see. It’s… _quite_ enjoyable. For both parties.”

“I know it is,” John sighed, “I’ve had patients whose partners were the same gender. I’ll get used to this, Sherlock. I swear I will.”

“I hope so,” Sherlock replied, sitting up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips, “I don’t think I can give you up now I’ve sampled you.”

“You won’t have to,” John promised, “This has been a long time coming. It’s not about to end.”

Sherlock hugged him tightly for a moment and John was left with the impression that Sherlock wasn’t as comforted as he’d hoped. Then the man pulled back and gave his own torso a look of aversion.

“I need a shower,” Sherlock announced, and flounced out of his room without looking back.


End file.
